A Promise Unspoken

The porch lights spilled gold across the lawn, gilding the crowd that had already begun to overflow into the yard. Shadows swayed around them—elongated limbs and flickering outlines cast by bodies moving to the beat. Music thumped from the open windows: a low, hypnotic bass that seemed to crawl along the ground, curling into their bones. Every now and then, a voice cut through—sharp laughter, a cheer, a scream muffled by intoxication.

Delorah stepped out of Kit's car first, her heels crunching against the gravel like glass underfoot. She hadn't said much since they left the house. Not because she lacked words—she had too many, all of them tangled around the echo of Sebastian's voice.

Do you really think your family would let you end up with him?

The silence sat between them like a third presence. Then Kit moved. He rounded the car, boots scuffing pavement, and offered her his hand without a word. His knuckles were split again—not from a fight this time, but from the way he'd white-knuckled the steering wheel for miles, like sheer grip could stop the world from unraveling.

When she took his hand, his grip loosened—not fully, but enough. Like she was a tether. Like touching her pulled him back from whatever mental cliff he'd been teetering on.

"Last chance to back out," he murmured. The edge of a smirk played at his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not tonight.

Delorah tilted her head. "And let you walk in there alone? What kind of partner in crime would I be?"

The word partner landed like a spark in dry grass—quiet, dangerous, waiting to catch. It lingered between them, heavier than it should've been. Not lovers. Not friends. Something unsaid but sharp-edged and real.

Inside, the house was thick with smoke and too many overlapping voices. Music fought with conversation, laughter spilled down the hall, and the air buzzed with cheap perfume, weed, and tension disguised as fun. Bodies moved in every direction—dancing, shouting, spilling drinks that would never be cleaned up.

Somewhere deeper in the chaos, someone was singing off-key to Lana Del Rey, the lyrics distorted by the walls. It was chaos wearing cherry lip gloss, and it didn't care who drowned in it.

Del pressed in closer to Kit as they moved through the crowd. His hand slid naturally to the small of her back—protective, anchoring. A touch that had become second nature.

Too natural, if anyone was looking closely.

"Do you even know whose house this is?" she murmured.

"Nope," Kit replied, grinning like none of it mattered. "But Tyler said it'd be wild. Thought we could use a little wild."

She opened her mouth to respond—but a familiar voice cut across the room. High. Flinty. Designed to draw attention.

"Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in."

Delorah froze mid-step.

James.

He leaned against the doorway like he'd been waiting for them, a red solo cup dangling from his fingers and a half-healed scab still crusted across his cheek—right where Kit had burned him. His lip curled. But his eyes? They never left Delorah.

"Careful, sweetheart," he said, tilting his head with mock sympathy. His gaze finally flicked to Kit—smug, daring. "Don't want to end up like him."

Kit didn't flinch. But his fingers pressed just a little harder into Del's back, grounding her. Bracing.

His voice, when it came, was low and sharp. "Didn't think you were stupid enough to show your face again."

James's smirk deepened. He took a slow sip from his drink, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel like a slap.

"It's a free party, Adrian. Or wait…" He tilted his head again, pretending to search for something. "Do we still call you Kit now?"

Delorah's stomach twisted. The name hung in the air like the smell of gasoline—thick, toxic, ready to ignite.

People nearby had turned to look. Not just from the sound, but the static—the tension coiling between the boys like something about to snap.

Kit's jaw ticked, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"That scar healing okay?" he asked coolly, motioning vaguely to James's cheek. "Looked a little nasty last time I saw it."

James's grin widened—ugly, gleaming. "Healing just fine. Not like you'll be around much longer to care. Or maybe I'll send a thank-you card to your daddy. Tell him how his son's been embarrassing the family name."

Delorah stepped in before the heat could boil over, her voice steady despite the tremble rising in her chest. "James. Don't."

He turned to her slowly, like he was savoring it.

"You know," he said, tone syrupy with condescension, "I thought you were just another pretty idiot getting off on the bad boy thrill." He tipped his chin toward Kit. "Didn't think you were the kind to slum it."

Before Kit could move, Del's fingers closed around his wrist—anchor, warning, promise. She stepped cleanly between them.

"You've got a lot of nerve showing up here after what you pulled," she said, her tone like ice over fire. "And for what? To brag about getting burned? Real brave, James."

There was a ripple—a few quiet laughs, then whispers spreading like wildfire.

James looked ready to retaliate. But the attention around them had shifted, and Delorah's gaze held no fear. Only fire.

His smirk faltered. Curled in on itself.

"This isn't over," he muttered, then turned and disappeared into the crowd like smoke.

The air deflated.

Kit exhaled hard, like he'd been holding that breath since the moment they stepped inside. "Sorry," he said, quieter now. "Didn't know he'd be here."

Del grabbed a nearby cup of water, took a sip, then passed it to him. "It's okay. He's the one who should be embarrassed. You didn't even touch him this time."

Kit let out a single, startled laugh—but it was real.

"You're trouble, you know that?"

"I think we established that already."

They didn't speak after that. Just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, while the party pulsed around them like they were the eye of some dizzying storm.

But something between them had shifted—something unspoken and heavy with meaning. A strange alloy of danger and devotion.

Delorah felt it in the silence.

He had her back. And for better or worse… she had his too.

The bass dropped hard, rattling the floorboards like distant thunder.

Light strobed across the crowded room—bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, laughter rising like steam from overheated skin. Kit and Delorah let themselves drift into the tide, pulled by the music, the motion, the moment.

Someone shoved drinks into their hands—neither of them asked what it was. Delorah took a sip. Syrupy sweetness, something fruity and deceptively dangerous. It burned going down.

She welcomed the sting.

Kit's hand never left hers.

"I haven't danced in forever," she said, leaning in just close enough to be heard over the music's roar.

Kit arched a brow. "Lucky for you, I haven't either."

She laughed—really laughed—bright and unfiltered, the sound bubbling up from somewhere untouched by fear or consequence.

Her fingers laced with his, tugging him into the heart of the crowd.

It started awkward. Kit wasn't a dancer, not really. He swayed more than moved—off-beat, uncertain. But Delorah? Delorah moved like she didn't care who was watching. Fluid, magnetic. All hips and wild golden hair catching the strobe like a halo gone rogue.

She looped her arms around his neck. He caught on fast.

Soon, they weren't dancing to the beat anymore.

They were dancing to each other.

Delorah tipped her head back, laughter glinting beneath the chaos, her body warm and alive against his. Kit's hands found her waist, steadying her, grounding himself. His thumbs moved in slow circles, more instinct than thought.

He couldn't stop staring.

The lights caught in her eyes like fireflies. She smelled like citrus and sweat and something faintly floral—something hers—and he didn't care who saw.

For once, there was no mask to wear.

No one calling him Adrian.

No Sebastian watching from across the room.

No father, no lies, no ceilings waiting to collapse.

Just her.

Just them.

Their foreheads touched briefly—too close to be accidental, not close enough to be a kiss. Close enough to make his pulse stutter.

Her lips hovered near his, uncertain. A breath's distance. An invitation and a warning all in one.

Kit's eyes searched hers, asking a question he didn't know how to say aloud.

Delorah turned her face away, biting her lip.

Not yet.

Kit didn't push.

"Want to go outside?" Kit asked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Let's catch our breath before I melt."

—

Delorah stepped into the night air like she was surfacing from underwater. Her heart still drummed with the echo of the music—and the memory of how close his mouth had come to hers.

Cool air kissed her skin. She exhaled. "God," she muttered. "It was boiling in there."

Kit followed a few paces behind, hoodie loose around his shoulders, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jeans.

"You say that like you didn't just drag me into the sun."

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. "You were smiling too."

"I don't smile."

He was. A little.

A swing set creaked faintly in the breeze, two seats still hanging on like relics. Del padded across the lawn and sank into one of them. The chain groaned, but held. She started to sway, the motion slow and grounding.

Kit took the other swing—less graceful about it. He dropped into it like he didn't trust it to hold him. They rocked side by side, a quiet rhythm settling between them.

From here, the house looked like a paper lantern—glowing, fragile, pulsing faintly with muffled bass. The noise had softened, like the world was finally giving them space to breathe.

"I used to have one of these," Del said softly, twisting the chain until it pulled tight against her palm. "At our lake house. I'd sit there for hours pretending I was someone else."

Kit glanced at her, brows lifting. "Someone better?"

"Someone braver." She shrugged, her eyes on the grass. "Someone who didn't care what anyone expected."

"You seemed pretty brave tonight," he said, voice low. "On the dance floor, at least."

"That wasn't bravery. That was vodka."

Kit chuckled under his breath, boot toe dragging a lazy circle in the dirt. "Still counts."

The swings creaked. Boots scraped. Quiet.

Then Delorah asked, barely above the wind, "Did you really not notice me before that party?"

Kit didn't answer immediately. He let the motion of the swing slow, his chains rattling faintly like breath in his lungs.

"I noticed you," he said, voice deliberate, careful. "You had this way of disappearing into yourself. I figured maybe you were pretending to be someone else too."

Del turned to look at him. His profile was carved clean in the dim spill of string lights—his jawline still, his lips unreadable.

"So… why didn't you ever say anything?"

Kit shrugged. The motion looked lazy, but she could see the deflection in it. "I figured you were out of my league. You always looked… clean."

"And you don't?"

"I'm not saying that." He leaned back, letting the swing groan beneath him. "But I'm not the guy you introduce to your parents."

Del snorted. "Good. Because mine are terrifying."

Kit smiled. Not wide. Not cocky. Just… honest.

Revised: A Promise Unspoken – Final Chunk

They both looked up at the stars—pale behind wisps of cloud, faint but still burning.

For a second, nothing else mattered.

Not Sebastian.

Not secrets.

Not whatever the hell was waiting for them tomorrow.

Just two broken kids, swinging in the dark.

Kit's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it the first time.

Delorah was humming under her breath—nothing recognizable, just a soft tune to fill the space between them. A lullaby made of scraps and stillness.

The phone buzzed again. Longer this time. Persistent.

Kit pulled it out, reluctantly.

Father.

His stomach turned.

"Everything okay?" Del asked, catching the shift in his expression.

Kit stood abruptly, fingers tightening around the phone. "Yeah. I'll be back."

He walked toward the side of the house, far enough that the music and laughter blurred into background noise.

The phone rang again until he answered.

"Adrian," his father's voice came sharp and cold, all business. "I trust you're keeping your priorities straight."

Kit's jaw clenched. "I'm doing what I need to."

"There are expectations, Adrian. Sebastian has been tasked with finalizing arrangements the board insists on. This isn't just about you—it's about the family's future."

Kit's voice dropped, bitter. "Family's future? Sounds like obedience to me."

"Call it what you will. Your brother understands the importance of presenting a united front. Of securing alliances. You'll learn to do the same."

Kit's pulse hammered in his ears. "So who's her? The one you want me to marry?"

There was a pause.

Thin ice.

A crack beneath it.

"I don't discuss family matters over the phone," came the clipped reply. "You'll know soon enough. Just remember—this choice could make or break everything."

The line went dead.

Kit stared at the screen, the silence in its wake louder than the music inside.

Someone was being chosen for him.

Someone he didn't even know yet.

And the name Adrian felt heavier than ever. Not a name. A leash.

He slid the phone back into his pocket, fingers trembling.

The night air was cool, but it did nothing to ease the heat building behind his eyes or the cold dread settling in his chest.

Adrian.

The name felt like a noose tightening around his throat—dragging him back to a life built on silence and sacrifice.

He raked a hand through his dark hair, trying to shake off the weight.

The family's future.

Arranged marriages.

Words like chains, every one of them locking him in.

—

When he returned to the swingset, Delorah looked up at him, her eyes finding him in the dim light.

"Everything okay?"

Kit managed a smile. The kind he'd perfected long ago. Tight. Empty at the edges.

"Yeah," he said, voice soft but steady. "Just some family stuff. Nothing for you to worry about."

She studied him for a beat. Then reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

The warmth of her fingers was a tether. A single thread holding him to the version of himself he still wanted to believe in.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Nodded once.

"Let's get back to the party."

But as the lights flared and the music rose again around them, Kit felt like a ghost.

Trapped between two names.

Two lives.

Two futures.

And neither of them felt like freedom.

Kit's Private Journal — torn-edge page, creased like it's been opened and closed too many times

I didn't ask.

Not because I didn't want to.

Not because I was scared.

Because she didn't say yes.

I would've kissed her.

I would've let it ruin me.

But I'll take the ache over the risk of breaking her.

She hummed something soft, and for a minute, it felt like a real future lived in her mouth.

Not mine.

But close enough to hear breathing.

Still…

I stood there like a fool and memorized the almost of it.

(Back corner, in cramped handwriting)

She brushed the hair behind my ear like I was something fragile.

I think I liked it too much.